


Behind Bricks

by leopardchic79



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Older Fic, Self-Indulgent, repost from livejournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 07:02:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4867607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leopardchic79/pseuds/leopardchic79
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slightly different version of what might have happened while Peter & Sylar were trapped together in Sylar’s mind. 12 years is a long time to try and keep hating someone. (Post episode 4.18 - The Wall.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind Bricks

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of the premiere of Heroes Reborn, I decided to post my one & only Heroes fic. I remember having so much fun writing this! Originally posted on my Livejournal, 02/07/2010. I gave it a re-read before I posted it tonight, but any mistakes are still my own.

The first time Sylar made him smile, Peter avoided him for two weeks. 

It wasn’t hard. They existed in a seemingly endless stretch of city, and Peter had long been familiar with Manhattan’s streets and buildings. He supposed he was lucky that Sylar hadn’t lived his life in another city or else the other man would have the advantage of prior knowledge. It was _his_ mind after all. 

Eventually though, the silence and emptiness drove him to seek out his enemy again for the mere sake of company. Sylar didn’t say anything when Peter sat down quietly across from him in the room that had once been his apartment. Their eyes met for just a moment before Peter looked away with a sigh of frustration and impatience. 

“Do you want to be here forever?” 

Sylar glanced at him again briefly, but didn’t reply. Minutes ticked by, endless and silent as Sylar focused again on a broken watch and Peter found he couldn’t avoid watching him. 

“No,” Sylar said suddenly, dropping the watch onto a pile of others – Peter presumed they were also running perfectly – and met his eyes intently. 

“What?” 

“No, I don’t want to be here forever, but I don’t believe I have much of a choice.” 

Peter opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t come up with anything to say that he hadn’t already so he stayed silent. When Sylar got up to leave at dusk to wander about the empty city, Peter didn’t follow him. 

~*~*~ 

He’d tried to remain stoic and bitter, but it was hard being angry all the time. Especially when the person he hated more than anyone else in the world was also his only companion. Peter told himself that he’d put aside his anger and hatred for Sylar just until they found a way out of here. There was no point wasting his energy on being furious with the man who had murdered his brother. He’d have plenty of time to resume his fury once they got back to the real world. After they saved Emma and defeated Samuel. 

For now he figured he could at least be civil. It was obvious that if they were ever going to escape they’d have to work together. He didn’t have to like Sylar, but he didn’t have to hate him right now either. 

Sometimes they spent their days together, sometimes they went a few days without seeing each other at all, but Peter didn’t stay away for more than a few days anymore. But there were other times when he just…had to. Times when he couldn’t even look at Sylar without _aching_ for Nathan. Hatred bubbled up hot and quickly in those moments and he’d decided it was better to put distance between them rather than start a fight he knew he’d lose. 

Sylar rarely made the choice to go off on his own, but Peter figured that since he had already been here for three years he’d had all the loneliness he could stand. 

At first they didn’t talk to each other much. Things had started out full of animosity and anger, but had quickly cooled into this amicable – and seemingly endless – silence. They didn’t argue, but they didn’t often speak to one another either. 

“How much time do you think has passed?” Sylar asked, squinting as he glanced up at the cloudless sky. “You know…out there,” he elaborated, waving a hand vaguely. 

They were in the park today, side by side rocking indifferently on playground swings. It was much smaller than Peter knew it to be, but he figured this must have been the only portion of Central Park that Sylar was familiar with. Peter hazarded a glance at the other man and watched as he traced a random pattern in the sand with his foot. 

“How long have we been here?” 

“I don’t remember exactly. Since you got here…a year? Two?” 

Peter nodded. “Yeah, that sounds about right. So out there…an hour or two? I don’t really think there’s an exact ratio of time here to time there.” 

Sylar snorted and looked up, meeting Peter’s eyes with a look of amusement. “Yeah, where’s an astrophysicist when you need one?” 

Peter smiled at him and forced himself not to laugh. This would be about the eighth time Sylar had made him smile. He wasn’t sure if continuing to count made the occasions more or less momentous. Slowly he was starting to realize he didn’t care quite as much. 

~*~*~ 

“You’re not even trying!” 

“I don’t exactly know what I’m supposed to be doing!” 

“Just concentrate!” 

“On what?!” Sylar screamed, smacking Peter’s hand away from his shoulder and glaring at him furiously. “You tell me to concentrate, but in case you haven’t noticed, I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to be concentrating on Peter! Should I think of Parkman and how much I’d like to kill him for trapping me in here with you of all people? Or should I picture his basement… _visualize_ myself there instead of here?” he sneered. “We are stuck here. Period! You were stupid enough to come in after me without a plan to get out, so you figure it out!” 

“Yeah believe me, I’m sorry I did that,” Peter answered bitterly. “Sometimes I don’t even think you want to get out.” 

He waited for a sarcastic or angry remark, for a roll of eyes or an accompanying don’t-be-such-an-idiot look, but he got uncertainty instead. Seconds stretched on silently, and Peter didn’t look away from the dark brown eyes that were suddenly swimming with confusion and…sadness. 

“Sylar…” 

“Leave me alone,” he snapped bitterly, knocking Peter down with a flick of his fingers and disappearing behind a building and off into vast, empty, _quiet_ New York. 

Peter didn’t go after him, and Sylar didn’t reappear for five days. 

~*~*~ 

Eventually, maybe two or three years after Peter had first found him, they found Parkman’s brick wall. Perhaps it had been there all along and they simply hadn’t been able to see it. Whatever the case, it gave them a solid, physical task – no matter how fruitless – that they could try and overcome. No more weary, frustrating arguments about how Sylar wasn’t concentrating hard enough on something neither of them could name. 

At first, Sylar wasn’t too keen on swinging a sledgehammer at a solid brick wall that never cracked or chipped. But after days of his sitting and watching – and repeating his thoughts on the stupidity of this idea – Peter snapped at him to either help or leave him alone. 

Sylar, Peter had noticed over several months, did not like to be alone anymore. He rarely left Peter’s side. On those days that Peter felt the need to be alone, to try his hardest to hold onto what little was left of his hatred for the other man, Sylar did not follow him. But he only very occasionally went off on his own. 

So Sylar stopped harping on Peter’s plan to tear down the wall and started to help again. It didn’t do any good. The wall never chipped, never cracked, never moved at all. But Peter found he didn’t mind so much now that Sylar was there to help him. In all honesty, he didn’t like being alone anymore either. 

~*~*~ 

“Today is Nathan’s birthday,” Peter said absently, voice quiet and contemplative. 

They were sitting together in Sylar’s apartment eating sandwiches and listening to the rain come down outside. Sylar said nothing in response, but Peter could see him go still out of the corner of his eye. 

“I mean, it’s not really, but…in here it is.” 

“Peter…” 

“Don’t,” he snapped quickly. Peter’s gaze was sharp as Sylar looked at him. There was remorse plainly painted in those dark brown eyes, and it _infuriated_ him. He hadn’t felt this anger in a very long time; time had softened the sharpest edges of his hurt and loss. He didn’t want an apology from Nathan’s killer. Not here. Not now. 

Abruptly, he stood up, walking out without a word, not caring about the rain or anything else. He missed Nathan terribly. He’d woken up every day since that terrible night on the rooftop missing Nathan. Even here, trapped and alone, he missed his brother. His behavior with Sylar…his civil, hell, downright _friendly_ behavior with Sylar…somehow it had lessened his grief even as it added to his guilt. 

Until moments like these, when he was acutely reminded that Nathan was gone. Nathan was dead. And Peter was trapped – maybe forever – with his murderer. Nathan hadn’t been perfect…far from it in fact. As an older brother he’d often been infuriating and he had let Peter down more times than he could count. But in the end it didn’t matter; he was still his brother, and Peter still loved him deeply. 

He didn’t have the energy to swing his sledgehammer at the wall, but at that moment, more than anything, he wanted out of this place. He sat down on the cold, wet pavement in front of the wall and drew his knees up to his chest. He stared at the bricks, willing them to crumble and break, but nothing happened. He hadn’t expected it to, but he wanted desperately to escape. To be away from Sylar. Sylar’s voice. Sylar’s face. Sylar’s thoughts. Sylar’s _mind_. He wanted out. He didn’t care if the other man was trapped here for eternity. He didn’t care of he got out in time to save Emma and beat Samuel. He just wanted to be free again. 

“Hey Pete…” 

Peter whipped his head around, blinking past rain and hastily shed tears. He stumbled over his limbs, standing up on shaky legs and forcing himself to breathe. 

_Nathan._

He stood a few feet away, soaked from the rain, that patented look of amusement, exasperation and affection on his face. Peter couldn’t say anything, afraid if he tried his voice might come out as a sob. Nathan watched him patiently and Peter could only stare back, heart squeezing painfully tight in his chest, eyes greedy to drink in the sight of his older brother so close once more. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered brokenly. 

An uncharacteristic sadness darkened Nathan’s eyes and he nodded. “I know. I’m…sorry,” he replied quietly. 

Thoughts and words were swirling through Peter’s mind, trying very frantically to tell him that this wasn’t right, wasn’t real. But it wasn’t until he stepped closer and laid a shaking hand on his brother’s shoulder that he realized the truth. This wasn’t a dream or a hallucination or some weird byproduct of this empty, lonely city. 

This was Sylar. 

Peter’s face crumpled in pain and he turned away, dropping to his knees painfully and letting his chin fall against his chest. “Go,” he whispered. 

“Peter…” Sylar’s voice now, uncertain and sorrowful. 

He flinched away from the other man’s touch on his shoulder. “Don’t touch me,” he hissed. 

“Peter, I--” 

He whipped around and grabbed the other man by the shoulders, shaking him violently. “Get away from me!” he yelled. “ _Stay_ away from me! You’re not my brother! You _killed_ my brother!” He pushed Sylar away, sinking back down to the wet pavement and blinking back tears. 

“I’m sorry Peter,” Sylar said softly, voice shaking. 

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, wanting desperately to rage at the other man, to hurt him, to force him away. Instead, not really believing his own actions, he crawled closer to where Sylar sat sprawled on the ground, drenched, his eyes sad and distressed. 

“I miss him,” Peter choked out. “I miss him more than you can possibly know or understand!” He moved even closer, reaching out and poking Sylar hard on the shoulder with his next words. “ _You_ took him away from me. _You_ killed him! And you didn’t care. You _reveled_ in it!” he yelled, sounding angry and wrecked. 

“I know!” Sylar cried, eyes wide, full of remorse. “You’re right. I didn’t care, I…I _wanted_ to kill Nathan. But Peter you…you have to know how sorry I am now. I know it doesn’t make a difference, it doesn’t bring him back, but I…I am sorry,” he repeated softly, eyes meeting Peter’s bravely once more before looking down. “I thought if I could give him back to you now…just for a little bit…even if it’s not real, that you might…” 

“I can’t forgive you,” Peter answered harshly. 

Sylar winced and nodded. “I know. I just thought you might not…hate me anymore.” 

“I don’t hate you,” Peter replied softly. It was an automatic response that was unbearably true. And it surprised the hell out of him. 

Sylar looked up sharply and their eyes locked. Peter saw a wary sort of hope in his eyes and he found he didn’t have it in him anymore to lie. 

“I don’t hate you,” he repeated. The truth of his words didn’t make him feel any less guilty. He turned away from Sylar and went back to staring at the wall, still wanting, more than anything for those bricks to start to collapse. 

~*~*~ 

After Nathan’s birthday, things were a little strained between them for a while. Despite Peter’s admittance to not hating him, Sylar was still a bit wary around the other man. He rarely left Peter’s side, but he gave him a certain amount of space, and he didn’t attempt to engage him in conversation quite as much as he had previously. 

Peter was, at first, grateful for the silence, but soon realized he missed speaking with the other man. So he talked, Sylar mainly listened. 

They were at the wall – they normally were during the day – taking a break from their attempts to break through it, sitting and drinking bottles of water. Peter found himself telling Sylar about a memory of Nathan. They were young, Nathan newly out of high school, Peter almost done with middle school. It was summer and they were at the family beach house. Their parents had gone back to New York for a few days – something important that probably needed to be addressed with The Company – and Nathan had decided to teach Peter how to drive. 

It hadn’t gone well. Peter wasn’t tall enough to safely reach the petals and see over the steering wheel, Nathan was a terrible teacher and the two of them had pretty much yelled at each other the entire time. Luckily, the road Nathan had chosen was a deserted one and when Peter had driven off of it into a sand dune, the only thing that had been hurt was his pride. 

“We walked back to the beach house because Nathan ‘knew a guy’ that would get the car out of the ditch for cheap,” Peter explained with a fond smile. “But when we finally made it back to the car with the tow truck…” 

“It was filled with sea gulls. You had left a half-eaten sandwich on the dashboard. I told you to put the windows up before we left, but you--” 

“Stop,” Peter quickly interjected in an icy voice, eyes boring into Sylar’s. “They are _not your_ memories,” he whispered hatefully. 

Sylar nodded, his eyes remorseful once again. “I know. I didn’t mean to upset you or to remind you of…what I’ve done. But I got caught up in your story. I could _see_ it all happening, and I knew what would happen next and…” he trailed off, waving a hand helplessly. “I didn’t ask to have Nathan’s memories inside my head.” 

Peter opened his mouth to snap at him, but closed it just as quickly. He shut his eyes and sighed, leaning his head back a little and running a hand through his hair. “I know you didn’t.” 

He couldn’t forgive Sylar for killing Nathan, but he also couldn’t blame him for everything. The lie that his mother, Bennett and Parkman had perpetrated to try and keep “Nathan” alive was almost as bad as Sylar killing him in the first place. It was only since he’d been trapped in here that Peter realized Sylar had been nearly as affected and traumatized by their terrible choice as Peter had been. 

“Peter…I’m sorry…” 

Peter sighed again and opened his eyes to look at him. “You don’t have to keep apologizing, I know you are. It…it doesn’t mean I can forgive you, but I know you’re sorry.” 

Sylar stared at him for the longest time with a look swimming in his brown eyes that Peter couldn’t quite identify. It made him uneasy in a way he had no desire to examine, so he took another sip of water and stood up, pushing all thoughts out of his mind and concentrating solely on cracking the wall. 

~*~*~ 

Another year went past and they were seemingly no closer to getting out than they had been the first day Peter met Sylar on a deserted street. However, their relationship – although Peter was sometimes loathe to call it that – continued to grow and change with every passing week. 

Time slowly began to heal Peter’s grief over Nathan. He still missed him, still thought about him often, but time had started to dull his sharp pain into something more manageable. One of the biggest changes was in how he looked at Sylar. That knee-jerk reaction to be angry, to think “ _Nathan’s killer_ ” was all but gone. He saw Sylar as so much more now. He only rarely looked and saw Sylar: psychotic serial killer. He saw Gabriel Gray. 

He was much quieter and more reserved than Peter had ever known him to be in real life. Gone was the arrogant sarcasm, the tendency to turn everything into a perceived threat or an easy chance to do harm. 

Peter liked to watch him fix clocks and watches. He did it absently with seemingly little effort and it fascinated Peter every time. Vaguely, he could remember what it was like to have that power…to be able to see how everything was put together. He’d questioned the other man once about it…asked why it was so easy for him to figure out the most intricate timepiece, yet have no insight on how to escape his own mind. 

“It doesn’t exactly work like that,” he had answered flatly. 

Gabriel also liked to read. Where Peter had mostly been a fan of comic books and graphic novels, Gabriel enjoyed classic literature. No matter where they were, he almost always had a book on hand. Peter supposed that it was a good habit to have when one was stuck in a silent, empty city. 

They only had occasional arguments now, mostly dealing with the fact that it had been years and no matter how hard they tried not a speck of dust came off of their prison wall. Peter dug up an old argument and accused him of not wanting to get out, of wanting to be trapped here forever. 

This time, to Peter’s surprise, he was met with agreement and not biting sarcasm and an eye roll. He told Peter that maybe, subconsciously, he was right. “Maybe this is what I deserve.” 

Peter was surprised by the stab of sorrow that hit him in the chest at Gabriel’s sad, resigned tone of voice. He stepped closer and grasped the other man by the shoulder, shaking him gently until their eyes met. “You’re different now,” he murmured. 

“That doesn’t make up for the past. For…for all of the people I’ve killed,” he answered, sounding defeated. 

And Peter didn’t know how to argue with him, because he was right. No matter how sorry Gabriel was, it didn’t negate the fact that Sylar had tortured and killed so many people. But Peter’s heart wouldn’t stop aching for his companion’s hopeless, crushed expression. He wanted Gabriel to smile. He wanted…. 

Swallowing his sudden nerves, Peter stepped in closer, hand moving from Gabriel’s shoulder to his neck. Breathless, he watched as the other man’s eyes darkened and then darted to meet his nervously. Peter dropped the bottle of water he was holding in his other hand, the thud it made when it hit the concrete caused Gabriel to jump, eyes wildly searching now for something to look at. Peter skimmed his now-empty hand up over the other man’s arm and slid it into his dark, thick hair. 

Peter’s heart was in his throat and he could barely breathe. His mind swam with desire and want, with fear and guilt. There were hundreds of reasons why this was a bad, terrible idea, the chief voice among them was his dimmed sense of grief, now alive and well and screaming Nathan’s name in the back of his mind. 

But Gabriel’s eyes were full of longing and hope, both looks he had seen before but had purposely ignored. Accompanying both seemed to be an almost certain fear that Peter would reject him. And Peter found that the need to crush that fear far outweighed his pleading conscience. 

He leaned closer until their foreheads nearly touched. His fingers moved slowly over Gabriel’s scalp, marveling at how soft his hair was. The touch caused Gabriel to tremble and for his eyes to flutter shut. 

“Peter…” 

His voice was a rough, desperate whisper and it was the last push Peter needed to close the gap between them and kiss the other man. 

It was hesitant at first, a mere brush of their lips together. But it wasn’t enough and Peter wanted more. He pressed his fingers a little bit more firmly into the back of Gabriel’s head, increased the pressure of his mouth against the other man’s. Gabriel’s lips were softer than he’d expected…not that he’d spent a lot of time thinking about this. He moved a bit more, fitting their mouths together better, taking a chance and running his tongue over Gabriel’s bottom lip. Peter felt him shiver, felt the first cautious touch of Gabriel’s hand on his arm, and Peter pressed closer still, sighing with satisfaction when the other man’s lips parted. 

Peter’s head was swimming. He deepened the kiss, knees nearly buckling as their tongues met. Gabriel’s mouth was hot and intoxicating; he tasted rich and sweet, and Peter only wanted more. He hummed happily when the other man’s arms came around his back, pulling them closer together. Peter let one hand slip from Gabriel’s neck, dragging it down his side and under his arm to tighten around his waist. 

They kissed each other slowly and deeply for a long time, utterly consumed with one another. Peter wasn’t sure how much time passed, but the empty world around them never changed. But when they finally broke apart from each other many long minutes later, _they_ were irrevocably changed forever. 

Peter didn’t move from Gabriel’s arms and didn’t open his eyes for a several moments. He didn’t know what to feel, how to react or what he should do next. A part of him had expected to immediately regret his own actions and to feel guilty beyond belief, but he was somehow not surprised to find that he didn’t. Kissing Gabriel had, in some way, seemed…inevitable. And no matter his slight confusion, he couldn’t deny how _good_ it had been. How good it still felt now, just having the other man in his arms and being pressed close to him. 

“Peter, what are we doing?” he asked quietly, breaking through Peter’s thoughts. 

He opened his eyes and looked up, tightening his hold on Gabriel just a little bit when he saw the expression of fear and worry on his face. Peter was certain that he expected rejection or revulsion even though it was Peter who had kissed him. He laughed a little bit and shook his head. “I have no clue.” 

Gabriel frowned and peered into his eyes intensely for a few moments. Eventually, he pulled away, biting down on his lower lip and now looking at Peter warily. “I don’t…this isn’t a good idea,” he said softly. 

Peter knew he was probably right…in fact, there was no _probably_ about it. For so many reasons. But he couldn’t bring himself to examine or think about all of those reasons right now. He reached for the other man hesitantly, sighing when Gabriel flinched away. 

“Why?” he asked gently. He didn’t reach for him again, but he stepped closer, leaning in a bit until the other man finally met his eyes. “Why isn’t it a good idea?” 

Gabriel bit out a harsh laugh, eyes going from a resigned sort of sadness to bitterness. “Would you like me to make you a list?” he sneered. “It should probably start with the fact that I murdered your brother!” His eyes flashed and for a few moments all Peter could see was the Sylar he had hated and feared for so long. But he forced himself to look past it, to see the man he’d grown to know. The man with whom he’d developed an undeniable closeness. The man he wanted to kiss again more than anything. 

He stepped in closer and reached out slowly, smiling a bit when he slipped his fingers into his hair and wasn’t met with a flinch or refusal. Gabriel closed his eyes and trembled, one hand reaching out to grip Peter’s arm. 

“Gabriel…” 

“Don’t call me that,” he hissed, eyes still closed. However, he didn’t resist when Peter pulled him back into his arms. He’d recently and very tentatively accepted Peter calling him by his given name. Peter knew Gabriel couldn’t completely let go of Sylar. The guilt and remorse he felt wouldn’t let him. 

“Let’s leave the wall for today,” Peter murmured, risking a kiss to the corner of his mouth, pleased when he wasn’t rebutted. “We can go back to the apartment and talk about this.” 

Brown eyes narrowed again and looked at him incredulously. “What like I’m some guy from the wrong side of the tracks who your family won’t approve of? I think it’s a little less clichéd than that.” 

“Look, I know this isn’t exactly ideal, but does it really matter? There’s no one else here anyway,” Peter replied, suddenly a bit impatient. He hated that the other man was trying so hard to be his guilty conscience. 

“Exactly,” Gabriel answered. He broke away from Peter’s touch and sat down, leaning back against the bricks and closing his eyes. “I don’t think you really want this Peter,” he went on. “You just don’t have any other options.” 

Peter sat down next to him so their shoulders were touching. “Don’t tell me what I want,” Peter said. There was no malice in his voice, just a weariness of sorts. “All my life I’ve had people telling me what I should want or how I should feel. I’m not forgetting who you are or what you’ve done. But I…we’ve been here for nearly, I don’t know, nine years? I know so much more about you now, and I like what I know…and I want to be closer,” he ended, moving nearer, reaching out to cup Gabriel’s cheek in his hand, turning his head to meet Peter’s eyes. 

“And what happens when we get out of here? No one will let you stay friends with me, let alone anything more than friends. They won’t know that years have passed. They’ll think I’ve done something to you, brainwashed you somehow or--” 

Peter cut him off quickly with a kiss, not letting up until the other man was pliant and pressing closer. He smiled against Gabriel’s lips and ran his fingers over the back of his neck, dipping beneath his shirt, loving the way the other man shivered against him. “You’re thinking entirely too much,” he murmured with another smile. 

Gabriel met his eyes again, his arms clutching Peter close, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. And finally his worried eyes softened and he trailed a finger down Peter’s cheek and neck. “Maybe you’re right,” he whispered, lips turning up into a mischievous grin. 

Peter laughed, warmth and desire bubbling hotly in his chest. He pulled the other man closer and this time when they kissed it was hungry, hot and deep with no hesitation. 

~*~*~ 

They made the transition from friends to lovers easier than they had made the one from enemies to tentative friends. It wasn’t really surprising to Peter considering the hardest part of his relationship with Gabriel had been his own reluctance to see him as anything other than a cold-blooded killer. 

They didn’t spend as much time trying to knock the wall down anymore. All of their best efforts had proved useless, and Peter was beginning to think that Gabriel had been right all along when he’d said there was no getting out of here. Instead of concentrating all of their efforts on escape at the wall, they explored Gabriel’s New York, looking for another way out. 

Their physical closeness opened up a new sort of mental and emotional connection that both of them had been holding back on previously. Peter listened as Gabriel quietly told him about growing up with an uncaring father – something Peter could relate to with ease – and a mother who smothered him at every possible turn. He never used his upbringing or his ability as an excuse for his actions, but Peter grew to understand – even if he didn’t condone – why he had ended up taking the path he had. 

He still had attacks of guilt over Nathan. Gabriel had learned to read him well though and he’d leave Peter alone when he needed it. It was those moments that Peter wondered what he was doing, if being here for so long had simply made him crazy. He’d spare the occasional thought for his mom, for Claire, imagining how they’d react to his newfound relationship with Gabriel. And most of all he’d picture Nathan, and he would ache with remorse for what he knew could be seen as the ultimate betrayal of his older brother. 

But ultimately, none of it changed his feelings or his desire to be close to Gabriel. 

They had made a now-rare trip to the wall, not really expecting the sledgehammers to change anything, but going through the motions for a little while anyway. Inevitably, it didn’t work, but neither of them was surprised nor discouraged. Peter sat on the pavement away from the wall, legs stretched out in front of him, leaning back on his hands. Gabriel retrieved their water and sat down next to him, dropping a kiss to his neck as he handed him the plastic bottle. 

They leaned against each other, content to be silent, share a bottle of water and just sit together. Peter was surprised when his thoughts drifted to Nathan, as he inevitably tried to avoid thinking of his brother when he was close to Gabriel. But all he had this time were good memories. All of the pain, hurt and loss seemed to drift into the background, a dull ache that Peter knew he would _always_ have, but that he could live with. Gabriel’s hand moved gently up and down his back and Peter leaned in closer, lips brushing against his ear as he slid a hand around his waist. 

“I forgive you.” 

The words were both unexpected as they were inevitable. Peter waited for guilt or regret, but they never came, and he knew, without a doubt, that he meant it. 

He smiled gently at the look of shock and fearful hope on Gabriel’s face, leaning in to press their foreheads together. “I forgive you,” he repeated, kissing him gently. Gabriel whispered his name against his lips and kissed him back, a note of desperation in his trembling mouth. When they pulled apart their eyes met and Peter watched with a soft smile as he saw incredulity melt into acceptance. His smile brightening, he kissed Gabriel again quickly before standing up and taking his hammer back to the wall of bricks. 

Time froze as Peter’s sledgehammer connected with the wall…and the bricks cracked. 

Peter whirled around and met Gabriel’s startled eyes. They stared at one another in shock for a few moments before Peter turned around again and smashed the hammer into the wall. Again the bricks crumbled, small pieces falling to the ground. Gabriel stood up, grabbed his own hammer and joined the other man. 

Light shone brightly through the holes they created and with one last look at each other their deserted, silent city disappeared. 

Peter coughed and blinked against the thick dust in the air. It took him a few minutes to orient himself and realize he was back in Parkman’s basement. He spun around at the sound of cracking bricks and found Gabriel pushing his way out of Matt’s Poe-like prison, a thin sheen of dust on his hair and coat. Quickly, he helped him, pushing away bricks and grasping his hand to pull him out. 

As the dust settled, Gabriel stared at him intently and Peter found himself avoiding his scrutiny for a moment as he tried to get his bearings. He reached out and dusted off the other man’s jacket, shutting his eyes when Gabriel stopped him and grabbed his hand. 

“Did you mean it?” he asked, voice rough and scratchy. 

Peter’s eyes fluttered open, looking up to meet dark, hopeful eyes. He squeezed the hand that held his own and laced their fingers together. “I don’t think this would have worked if I hadn’t.” 

“What now?” Gabriel asked, relief coloring his tone. 

Peter shook his head, glancing around and spotting a clock on the wall. He laughed. “It’s only been about half a day,” he murmured incredibly. 

“Does that change anything?” 

He looked up again, reaching up his other hand to cup Gabriel’s cheek, pulling him down for a warm kiss. “Not in the least.” 


End file.
